


Derek Hale's Guide to Getting Married

by circa (stealthturtle)



Series: the one with family [3]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Derek, College, Derek Hale Deserves Nice Things, Established Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Everyone Is Alive, Getting Together, M/M, Spark Stiles Stilinski, Wedding Planning, derek makes pantones his BITCH
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-27
Updated: 2020-05-27
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:28:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24406564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stealthturtle/pseuds/circa
Summary: He remembers the sound of winter recognising spring, when ice melted in drips on the front porch and the birds sang loudly their reawakening. And he remembers the way Stiles looked when he found the ring box hidden in the living room cabinet, laughing in disbelief with his head thrown back and saying, "You're the worst at hiding things."And Derek thought of going down on one knee right then and there.
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Series: the one with family [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1715101
Comments: 24
Kudos: 423





	Derek Hale's Guide to Getting Married

**Author's Note:**

> YES IT IS I  
> PUBLISHING ANOTHER FIC  
> AND NOT WORKING ON MY MULTICHAPTER FIC
> 
> I cannot and will not be stopped. Love you all hope all is well <3
> 
> This can be read as a stand-alone but there are references to the previous fics that are part of this series! I recommend to read it all in order because FLUFF and CONTINUITY. Enjoy, all!

**Step One: Plan Your Wedding**

He really can't tell you what he's been thinking these days. 

In between showing up semi-regularly as a consultant in the Sheriff's Department, doing more volunteer work in the local Fire District, and arranging more graduation dinners than he could manage, Derek's life has been keeping him too occupied to help out in wedding planning. 

His own damn one to boot.

_ "That's what I'm here for, _ " Lydia had insisted, tossing her curls over her shoulders one Tuesday afternoon when he was hunched over the binders their wedding planner had left for them to make final vettings in.  _ "I've seen you try to pair purple table cloths with black napkins,"  _ she had her nose wrinkled,  _ "I'm not giving you my blessing to marry Stiles with that kind of eye for pairing colours."  _

Derek never thought he'd get this far in life where he'd be stressing over seating arrangements, debating five times with his own reasoning if it's safe to seat the Denver pack near Santa Maria's fledgling one after having had mediated a dispute between them a year prior. He never planned his life past making it to the age of 30 and hopefully not getting the rest of his pack killed in the process. Hell, at the age of 23 most of his plans revolved around making the necessary steps to kill Peter and that would have been that. 

But Derek had never counted on his life getting bouldered over by the chance to make a family of his own, with Betas who fought for the safety of their territory as fiercely as they loved each other. And the crazy turnabout of having someone he could trust standing firmly at his side through his maelstrom of a life. 

In hindsight, 23-year-old him could never have imagined something as good as this. 

Today's agony has him staring commiseratingly at the sample palettes laid out for his wedding suit showing him 17 different shades of blue. He didn't know there were more than  _ five.  _

"I could get married in a Henley,” he tells Stiles over the phone, brows drawn tight as he tries to figure out the difference between Navy and Royal blue. “You said it’s your favourite clothing on me, that could work out.” 

Stiles laughs through the line and responds,  _ “And have Dad and Lydia cancel the wedding? No thanks. Don’t get your tail twisted in a knot, Derek. Just pick a colour.”  _

“You think I haven’t been trying to do that since yesterday?” He grumbles.

_ “How hard can it be?”  _

Derek glares between Midnight blue and Dark Navy, heavily tempted to put a claw through the offending colours. “Very,” he grits out. 

Planning a wedding when the person you’re going to marry is on his last leg of his undergrad is both pleasantly unprecedented and frustrating. And it wasn’t even Derek’s fault he proposed a bit earlier than planned. Okay, it was  _ a little  _ bit his fault. Mostly it was Stiles’ though. 

He’ll get to that part later. 

Derek sighs, letting his legs give out into a sprawl on the living room carpet he’s taken these days to be the designated spot in the house where binders and pamphlets and contracts that have anything to do with the wedding were strewn about. “I wish you were here,” he tells Stiles. 

He could almost hear the smile when Stiles says,  _ “Just a few more weeks, Der. Just until I finish my thesis, and then I’m running back there to marry the shit out of you.”  _

Derek laughs despite himself, tilting his head up to rest on the end of the couch’s cushions. He asks, “Are we doing the right thing?” 

_ “Getting cold feet already? Save some of it for the altar.”  _

“No, idiot,” Derek answers immediately. “I wanted to wait, you know, until at least after your graduation and we could have done this together.” 

Stiles sounds like he means it when he says,  _ “I’m sorry.”  _

“No, I - you shouldn’t be. I’m not. Stiles I’m not making this clear enough,” Derek transfers the phone to his other ear and dips his tone to something more earnest. “I bought that ring on your finger the day after you moved in with me.”

_ “Mhmm, the date of which is still debatable. You say first year of college but Dad and I both know half my shit was in that house summer of high school graduation.”  _

“We agreed to make it official during your first year because it made your dad want to arrest me less,” Derek points out for the nth time. “You’re butting in too early hold on - what I  _ meant _ to say was: are you sure you want to do this before you even start applying for grad school?"

_ “Yeah, I can’t make you wait too long, can I?”  _ Stiles answers, just on this side of teasing. 

Derek rolls his eyes and hates that Stiles isn’t even here to witness it. “Don’t make this about me. I’ll be fine. I don’t need a wedding to know you’re coming home to me.” 

He hears Stiles scoff and grumble jestingly,  _ “Don't need a wedding. You keep that kind of romantic talk up and see if I show up at the altar! I’ve got the ring now; I’m keeping it.”  _

Derek laughs, brushing a hand through his mess of hair that he’s tugged through in frustration in the half hour he’s spent choosing a tie to go with the unfinished suit. “And I’m not taking it back. I just want to know you’re okay with this and that Lydia didn’t take the reins on our relationship when she decided to hire a wedding planner.” 

_ “Which is pretty impractical since she insists on doing most of the work anyways. I bet Brian’s too afraid of her to put his profession to more use though.”  _

“Yesterday he recommended Gardenias for the table centerpiece and Lydia had different opinions. He ended up tearing out an entire page of floral arrangements from his binder just so she couldn’t see more of his suggestions.” 

_ “Ha! Sounds about right."  _ Then after a moment's consideration, continues, _ "We should give him a gift basket for all the trauma.”  _

“I’m already paying him in full,” Derek says, playing with a piece of fabric stapled to the binder, “but you’re avoiding my question. Lydia and Brian won’t make a wedding worth it if the other groom isn’t ready for it.” 

_ “Which groom are we talking about then?”  _ Stiles says flippantly.

“Stiles, babe, seriously,” he says sternly. 

_ “Ooh, big bad’s breaking out the big guns. How long until we get to the ‘honey’ stage?”  _

Derek doesn’t even deign this a reply, which only makes Stiles' laugh carry through the receiver, low and warm and easy. It makes something in Derek’s chest unclench, reminds him why he’s kicking up a fuss about appropriate pantones and if Lilies went with Petunias in the first place. 

_ “I’m not avoiding the question, sourwolf. I gave you an answer when you asked me to marry you,”  _ Stiles continues with more softness in his voice this time.  _ “I  _ want _ to be married to you and it doesn't matter if your suit doesn't match the reception’s backdrop. I’d marry you in a fucking potato sack in the middle of the desert. How’s that for romance?” _

Derek feels the blood rush to his face, and if the human were here he'd be on the receiving end of a string of mockery and cooing. God help him, but he actually misses it. 

He tells him as much, "I've missed you every single day since you moved." Because he's allowed to say stuff like this now. It's pretty great. 

Stiles takes a beat before answering that with,  _ "How can you doubt if we're doing the right thing when you say shit like that?"  _ The laugh that follows is melodic and happy-sounding.  _ "Tell me again which shades you're choosing between." _

Derek grips the coffee table in anguish. "There's  _ seventeen _ ." 

***

Scott and Allison have declared themselves marriage gurus despite having been married for all of six months. In an effort to prove himself - and Derek quotes - "the Best Man to ever Best any Man," Scott has volunteered to make the invitations. 

"I'm telling you," the young Alpha starts with a grin and three different card samples fanned out in his hands, " _ embossed  _ lettering is where it's at. It's both a classic  _ and _ fun to the touch." 

"It also costs two dollars more per leaf," Derek counters, holding a sheet with a list of fonts in varying levels of curliqued in his own hands. "No one keeps the invitations anyways." 

There's a plethora of sample invites scattered on the designated Coffee Table of Wedding Planning. There's eggshell white, pearl white, off-white, dirty white, and the odd black coloured board papers to choose from. It's only a little less aggravating than the Suit Dilemma of three days before, but the minute differences between the inane plural of Whites haven't failed to grate on his nerves. Why do these things involve so many  _ shades?  _

" _ Dude _ come on, trust me on this. I'm the one who already got married between the two of us," Scott tells him with a sage expression on his face that Derek would scoff at if he weren't the only person that actually knew how to manage the finer details of staging a marriage ceremony. "Embossed is best. And Stiles deserves the best, right?" 

"Honey stop using the Stiles card," Allison pipes up from the nearby La-Z-Boy, looking serene and completely without the stress Derek was practically _ marinating _ in. "We need that for the cake-tasting tomorrow." 

Scott nods, "Damn, you're right." He looks up at Derek and continues, "Pretend that last part never came out of my mouth." 

Derek raises an eyebrow. "What Stiles card?" 

"Pretend that  _ also _ never came out of Allison's mouth." 

He crosses his arms and looks expectantly at the woman in question instead.

She shrugs in her seat. "Lydia told us to guilt trip you if you needed a little more convincing with some of our suggestions. It's worked so far." 

"No it hasn't," Derek denies quickly, all the while doubting the list of preparations he's steadily been ploughing through today with the help of the couple. Should he have  _ not _ chosen steak and lobster for the main? Was the number of invited guests influenced by Scott, too? The catering's china? 

"Of course," Scott says placatingly, hiding an impish grin behind his fan of cards. "So, can we agree on the embossed lettering?"

Derek sends a prayer of help up to his mother and says yes. Because Stiles deserves the best, that's fucking why. Scott's manipulation be damned.

. . .

**Step 2: (Try to) Write Your Wedding Vows**

"You're back," Derek exhales in the crook of Stiles' neck, wrapping the younger man in a tight embrace. Stiles hasn't even taken more than three steps in his house before Derek had wrenched the front door open and lunged forward for contact. 

It's been a month. 

"It's only been a month, Derek," Stiles laughs against his hair, but he's hugging back just as fiercely. 

"Too long," Derek mutters, and loosens his hold only to seal Stiles' lips with his own in a kiss that felt like finally coming home. He closes the door behind them with the hand that wasn't wrapped around the younger man's waist and just as swiftly presses their bodies up against it, slotting their lips together and actively trying to kiss Stiles' absence away.

Stiles smiles through the kiss and nips at Derek's lower lip, allowing enough of a break to breathlessly ask, "Kids aren't home?" 

Undeterred, Derek moves to pepper open-mouthed kisses against his boyfriend's jaw, leading up to his ears where he knows he can make Stiles' knees weak. He licks in once. 

Stiles buckles against the door.

"No Betas," he whispers, mouth spreading into a proper grin. "Just us." 

Stiles grins back just as salaciously and whispers, "I like the sound of that." 

The luggage gets forgotten on the foyer's floor, the stairs leading upstairs gets scuff marks from Stiles' shoes, and Derek thinks there must be a positive correlation between the amount of days they spent apart and the number of times he managed to make Stiles orgasm that afternoon. 

When they both come to in the post-coital haze, he holds Stiles against him like he's afraid he'd spring out of bed to go back to another meeting in Stanford in the middle of summer. The grey sheets are kicked down to the bottom of the mattress, twisted in their feet and soiled. He's got one ankle hooked around Stiles' and his mouth lazily kissing a mole-smattered shoulder. 

He thinks,  _ I shouldn't ever let you leave again,  _ as the younger man sinks heavier into the mattress, slipping between responding to his touches and passing out entirely.

He thinks,  _ I can't believe I'm marrying you.  _

The clock reads 4:13 and Derek knows he should be starting on dinner soon. There hasn't been a visit from Stiles that the pack hasn’t made time for, and very soon the house is going to fill up again with chatter and rowdy banter. He can already imagine how it's going to go: Erica would burst in with Isaac on another race to get to Stiles first, Jackson would pretend not to care, and Lydia would hound them both about the remaining details they've yet to settle for the wedding. Scott and Allison would round up hours worth of trading stories and it wouldn't take long before Stiles would be on the phone with his dad convincing him to come to dinner.

So dinner. He's going to do that. Cook for his pack. Just five minutes more. 

Or maybe ten. 

Stiles snores softly beside him, burrowing his ski-sloped nose into the hollow of Derek's throat.

Fifteen minutes can't hurt, right? 

There have been many times in Derek's life when he's wondered how he got here. Probably starting around the time Stiles staged an intervention to "get his head out of his ass" and "Alpha up" because "his pack needed him and they're not surviving the next supernatural disaster without him." He's never going to forget that speech, and the way Stiles almost turned red with how much emotion he held in his human body, shaking in anger one moment and then crashing against Derek in a hug the next. The first one Stiles ever gave him. He’s a study on contradictions like that.

Derek wonders how he deserved to be looked at as a parental figure by the Betas who used to only either fear him or fear  _ for _ him. Most days he still can't believe he's rebuilt the manor that used to haunt his dreams, and now he knows his parents would have been proud to see how beautiful it stands again. Home to the also-rebuilt Hale pack, with two Alphas, a kanima, the matriarch of the Argents, the law on their side, a nurse, a banshee, and a mage for their denmaker. Mom would have laughed and loved the peculiar assortment. 

He wouldn't have all of this without Stiles. It knocks the breath out of him whenever he thinks of how life could have been different if he never let him in. Because Stiles stood his ground and took his Dad and Scott with him to keep them safe, which didn't leave negotiation for Allison and Melissa to enter the fold, and as if that weren't enough of a miraculous turn of events, Stiles went and raised four werewolves, planted his foot down, and told Derek to build him a house.

Has it only really been seven years? 

"Mind the capers," Stiles mutters in his sleep, brushing against the werewolf's Adam's apple. 

Derek chuckles. 

He could write a book about the insane seven years it's been since the day they met. Lydia did say it's about time he's started thinking of writing down his vows. How do people sum up the grandest speech of their lives like this? 

He lost the opportunity to use his proposal speech two years ago. Granted, it wasn't that great anyways. But whatever lame material he came up with didn't stand a chance against Stiles' annoying penchant for ruining his own damn surprises. Derek tried everything, but hiding the ring box was like playing a game with a bloodhound. 

The first time was the sock drawer incident, the second time was in an actual flower pot at the suggestion of John. The Sheriff assured him Claudia was the same way, always having a special tell about hidden things and missing objects. The third, fourth, and fifth attempts all ended with Derek feeling less and less intent on actually doing it after the younger man's graduation. 

Stiles found the ring box in every nook and cranny Derek had tried to hide it in, and every time Derek swept it away and insisted it wasn't time yet. But the sixth time was different. 

He remembers the sound of winter recognising spring, when ice melted in drips on the front porch and the birds sang loudly their reawakening. It was like the universe was telling him,  _ today’s a good day to do it.  _ And he remembers the way Stiles looked when he found the ring box, yet again, previously hidden in the living room cabinet, laughing in disbelief with his head thrown back and saying,  _ "You're so bad at this."  _

And Derek thought of going down on one knee right then and there. 

(When he actually did, Stiles' near-sardonic "Yes, you idiot," was tuned out by dizzying joy he felt when the ring was on his boyfriend's -  _ fiance's _ \- finger.)

“I’d build another house for you,” Derek informs the sleeping man beside him. “I could do that instead of writing and re-writing my vows.” 

The peaceful silence stretches until Stiles’ sleepy response comes in as, “Stove’s on,” leaving Derek to wonder what he’s cooking in his dreams. 

Fuck. Dinner. He should cook. 

He starts moving to extricate himself from the bed, but Stiles chose that exact moment to clutch on to him a little tighter, looking for all his unconscious self like he was offended his flesh pillow dared to move away from him. 

Derek lets himself be drawn in and fishes his phone instead from the bedside table. He taps out a mass-text: 

[You - 4:21 PM]

**_> He's home now_ **

**_> > Someone bring take out we aren't cooking _ **

The response comes in intervals: 

[Erica - 4:25 PM]

**_> ❤️_ **

**_> > IS ISAAC THERE ALREADY LOCK THE DOORS_ **

[You - 4:25 PM] 

**_Lock it yourself_ **

[Allison - 4:31 PM] 

**_> Ok! Popeyes alright? _ **

**_> > Dibs. Borrowing him tonight - Scott _ **

**_> >> Sorry nt srry Derek :) - Scott _ **

[Lydia - 4:34 PM] 

**_> Good, I'll bring the venue's contract later _ **

**_> > Why isn't he responding to my texts? Stop sexing him into comatose _ **

He doesn't reply to that one. 

[Isaac - 4:44 PM] 

**_> If u love me ull tell Erica off for ditching her work_ **

**_> > I didnt bc im the responsible one_ **

[You - 4:45 PM]

**_Stiles is back. This means I'm off duty_ **

[Isaac - 4:45 PM] 

**_> ????_ **

**_> > Wdym_ **

[You - 4:47 PM]

**_You're his children now_ **

[Isaac - 4:47 PM]

**_Wtf cmon!!!_ **

***

The document's cursor blinks at him. Some part of Derek believes that if he wishes it hard enough the vows will write themselves, but that ability is unfortunately outside the parameters of lycanthropy. 

And the thing is, Derek has an honest-to-God bachelor's degree in English Literature. He spent four years reading and analysing the likes of Emily Dickinson, Hemingway, Louisa Alcott, Virginia Wolff and wrote his entire thesis on taking apart classics to put them back together in a feminist narrative. It's a fact Stiles relishes because he thinks it's the most hilarious thing next to Jim Carrey and Lenny Bruce that Derek studied a field that has to do with words that he's too reticent to speak. 

Writing a goddamn love letter is supposed to be the one thing he can wave a certificate around for. 

He grows angrier every minute that passes without words coming to him, and he can almost hear the teasing tone of Stiles saying, "The sheer intensity of your glare can't actually melt technology." 

Except when he turns around, he sees the man himself leaning against the sliding door of the study, two mugs of what smells like coffee in each hand. He's dressed in sweats and a shirt Derek can't remember which one of them belongs to, a lazy smirk curled on the corner of his lips, and for a second Derek thinks it would be easier to write an ode to that mouth. 

"Lydia told me she gave you a deadline and left me clear instructions to not bother you," he says as he pushes off the door frame to walk fully inside, setting one mug of coffee down next to the laptop. Derek doesn't need to check to know that it's made with honey and milk. 

When Stiles steps in close enough, Derek lets the side of his temple rest against the hard curve of the younger man's hip bone, feeling a hand curl on the nape of his neck. The tension in his shoulders seeps out of him gradually. 

"I've been doing so bad at all this," Derek says in a low voice.

He hears Stiles scoff from overhead. " _ You _ ? I feel like a shitty fiance, man. I've barely helped in planning, that was all you and the pack. Well, half of them anyways." Stiles combs through his hair gently and continues, "But I'm here now, though." 

"You spent your entire adult life strategizing how to keep all of us alive, I think this is a fair trade off," Derek assures him and looks up to ask, "How'd you write yours?" 

Stiles grins down at him and answers jovially, "That's a secret! And the secret is: I'm gonna be winging it like I have everything else in my life  _ including _ my degree." 

Derek huffs. Of course Stiles would have the luxury to rattle off his vows from the top of his head. He doesn't have the same inclinations, never been good with filtering his emotions into sentences without seeming stilted or offensive. He wouldn't do that on his damn wedding day, not after all the shit he went through to make it perfect enough to appease Lydia's tastes that she's decidedly tailored to Stiles' preferences, which is what made him work so hard from the get go. 

"Is it bad luck if I help you to write it?" Stiles regards the laptop dubiously. "Like is there a superstition that'll cost us premature divorce before we even get to the seven-year itch part?" 

Derek frowns at him. "We are not getting a divorce." He didn't wear himself thin going through two hundred Pantone samples for five different types of fabric just for that. 

Stiles chuckles, "I know, I'm just kidding. Werewolf law states you're stuck with me until the apocalypse." He leans down to place a chaste kiss on Derek's lips, but sound enough for it to taste like coffee and promises. 

"Until the sun collapses in over our heads," the werewolf murmurs against the kiss, causing Stiles to break out into laughter that has red dancing across the valley of his nose and cheeks. 

"See take  _ that _ and write it down," he tells Derek, "you're like the king of unexpected sappy shit. You'd give tree nymphs a run for their money. It's disgusting." 

"Is that why you agreed to marry me?" 

"Well that and you're pretty," Stiles responds, thumbing the older man's beard that he's forgetting to shave with how busy he's been lately. "Just a regular Stepford trophy husband. Werewolf edition. We should buy you pearls and a Cadillac." 

Derek rolls his eyes and in one swift movement, steals Stiles' mug from his hands and tugs him down onto his lap. Long fingers find purchase on his shoulders and he gets a swat on the bicep once from a surprised Stiles. "Out of the two of us," Derek starts, "I'm employed and Erica's only recently outgrown calling you 'pack mom.' What colour should we get your Cadillac in?" 

"Green, like your envy about me being the favourite parent," Stiles says derisively. "You should have come with a warning: date the other Alpha, father the rest of his cubs. I never stood a chance." 

Derek lets his fangs drop when he grins. "You made yourself a copy of my keys and seduced me into relinquishing my credit card for groceries.  _ I'm _ the one who never stood a chance." 

Stiles shakes his head and counters, "You're the enabler, you saw an opening for someone else to take care of your puppies and let them run with it. Next thing I know they've adopted me." He tilts his head in consideration. "Or I adopted  _ them _ and wasn't even invited to sign the papers." 

"Nope," Derek says with finality, "that's all you. You and your master plan to woo us all with hot food and your stupid mandatory cuddling." 

Stiles swats him again. "It's called  _ pack bonding  _ and you should know that, and it's never been stupid because it  _ worked. _ " 

"And now you're paying for it by raising a werewolf pack." 

This time the younger man grins back, widely and with satisfaction. "Best decision ever. I totally wooed you, I was your fucking knight in shining armour saving you from a dysfunctional pack and the evil-doing supernatural. Did you ever swoon?" 

Derek shrugs, "You did enough swooning for the both of us." 

"Rude! That happened  _ twice  _ and both times I was losing blood after saving  _ your _ ass. That doesn't count, you dick." 

He lets his voice drop when he tilts his chin up to say, "Then consider me wooed," before kissing him fully, deeply, reverently, and Stiles opens up for him with a languid ease only afforded by two people who have done this too many times to keep count of. He thinks,  _ I've loved you for five years,  _ when Stiles arches into the kiss, long fingers splaying out on Derek's chest, comfortable and warm. He thinks,  _ I'll love you for as long as I live,  _ when the laptop screen gets shut down and the younger man shifts to straddle him in his seat. 

And he thinks he has years ahead to keep his vows, and make new ones along the way. Maybe he'll try his hand again at the whole winging it thing. 

"Wanna take a break upstairs?" Stiles suggests with his heartbeat fluttering sanguinely where it's pressed up against Derek's chin. 

After all, the last time he 'winged it', he struck gold. 

  
  


**Step Three: Have Dinner with the In-Laws**

The Stilinski-McCall family dinner was scheduled on the 24th of July, and the only thing that makes it nerve-wracking is because it's the night before  _ The _ Rehearsal Dinner. The one Lydia had upper-cased in the e-mail she sent out to remind the entourage of tomorrow's schedule.

But tonight, the meal stayed simple and was spent with two Stilinskis and three McCalls. A tradition Derek started himself was cooking for just John and Stiles when they were still dating (were they ever  _ just _ dating or did they skip that part and just moved in together?) and he was still trying to get on John's good side. 

Stiles cooked for everyone so Derek made his first sweeping statement to be both the guest and the food-provider whenever he got invited over. If he wasn't a werewolf, he would've gotten hypertension from figuring out meals that both the Sheriff would like and Stiles would stamp his heart-healthy approval on every Sunday night. But five years and seven cookbooks later, he's gotten it down to a near-Science.

"This chicken is dry," Stiles says through his mouthful of picatta. 

"I think it's just right," John answers, then flashes a crooked smile to jest, "Few more years of this kind of cooking and I'll give you my blessing, Hale." 

Stiles snorts and tells him, "Pretty sure the ship has sailed on that one, Dad. You're giving me away in two days." He holds up two fingers in front of John's face and promptly gets it nudged away. 

"I can witness your marriage and still not approve of it," John says drily as he reaches over to get a second helping from the casserole dish. 

Melissa's jingling laughter rings out from the conversation. "Oh drop it, John. We both know Derek's your favourite son." 

"Hey!" Stiles cries out. "A few years ago I was his  _ only  _ son. Lone wolf.  _ Un. Uno. _ You're seriously not allowed to betray me like this when you have one kid." 

" _ Dude, _ " Scott interjects with a comically wounded expression that has Allison snickering into a dinner napkin.

Stiles only regards him briefly and says, "Okay one and a _ half." _

“And in two days I’m going to have two and a half,” John says with ease, giving Derek a side-long glance and the warm spark in his eyes makes Derek truly appreciate what it’s like to be part of this family. 

**Step Four: Have a Private Conversation with Your Father-In-Law**

After dinner, Derek finds the Sheriff outside the patio bench, nursing a bottle of beer. The older man nods at his presence and gestures for him to take a seat. The night is balmy the way July usually is, and the sky on this side of town looks to have less light pollution as it’s near the Preserve.

“So,” John starts when Derek takes a seat next to him, an identical drink in hand, “are you ready to be a married man?” 

“Can’t be that much different, right?” the werewolf responds, a smile playing on his lips at the question. 

John shrugs and stretches his arms across the back of the bench. “You’ve been whipped by my kid since he was old enough to get his own credit card. And even then he managed to get a joint account with you. I’ve given up trying to understand your relationship since then, so you tell me.” 

Derek smiles at the memory of Stiles creating a powerpoint presentation detailing why having a joint bank account was beneficial for the entire pack’s finances, and next thing he knew he was swindled into handing over a plastic representation of how well and truly gone he was on the younger man. “Can’t imagine it being much different, no.” 

“Me either,” John says with a fond look of his own, “You know I never thought I’d end up having so many adults calling me grandpa at this age. Makes a man sore in the ego.”

“Want me to tell them to stop?” 

Stiles had found it hilarious when the Betas started claiming John as the pack granddad and hadn’t stopped calling him ‘Pops’ since. The Sheriff grimaced at the name at first but now jokingly refers to them as his overgrown grandkids and has them ranked according to how much trouble they make at the Sheriff’s Department. So far, Erica has unsurprisingly ranked last with her collection of parking and speeding tickets.

“Doubt they would,” John waves a hand dismissively, “you kids can pretend to be independent all you want but I know it makes you all feel better to have an actual adult around.”

“Well don’t let Stiles hear you say that,” Derek responds. 

John laughs at this, “That kid of mine. Half the time I don’t know whether to be proud of him or to be terrified for his life.” After a beat he follows in a quieter voice, “But I know she’d be insanely proud of how he’s turned out, too. He’s done so well, considering everything.” 

“Yeah,” Derek agrees, “he saved all our lives and then some.” 

John’s smile broadens. “He always wanted to be a superhero. Only Stiles could want something so bad he’d end up living out his own damn comic book story.” 

Only Stiles could handle being human and still ending up protecting the apex predators under his care.

“It’s not that surprising honestly,” Derek considers, “his spark is based on a will so strong supernatural forces bend to it.” 

John scratches at the scruff on his chin and hums. “Stubbornness always has been one of the hallmarks of his personality. You ready to have that for the rest of your life, Derek?”

“Haven’t you asked me this question before?” Derek asks bemusedly. 

“Life is unpredictable, Derek,” John says in a more sombre tone, “and Stiles - he’s the light of my life, y’know?”

Derek nods seriously. 

“And if for whatever reason,” John continues, gesturing vaguely with his hands, “even if it’s some stupid fight or maybe a situation where you can’t keep him safe anymore. Just, don’t forget to at least bring him back to me, all right?”

Derek clears his throat. “For what it’s worth, I can promise you I will. But I don’t think there’s anything short of death that’d make me want to let him go.” 

John’s answering chuckle is warmer. “Then I trust you’ll make yourselves extremely hard to kill.” 

“That’s basically my job, John,” Derek jokes back, and they settle into finishing their beers before heading back inside where Scott and Allison have arranged a rather intense game of Supernatural Pictionary, and that was that. 

**Step Five: Fail to Get Cold Feet**

“Am I going to have to stop you from climbing out the window?” Cora asks from where she’s perched on a golden loveseat. 

Derek’s dressed in the suit he’s virtually cried blood for, facing the full-length mirror in the wall of the foyer. Lydia insisted on keeping them in separate hotel rooms (with much protest from Stiles) before meeting “for the first time” at the reception proper. So far, the only thing this has achieved is Lydia not blowing her top off and Stiles popping in and out in secret to sneak Derek squares of miniature desserts he’s been stealing from the caterers. 

“I can’t imagine you’d have to,” he responds coolly, undoing and redoing his tie for the fourth time. Should he really have gone with a striped tie? Was it tacky? Does Stiles even like stripes as much as he did six years ago when the Miguel inside joke was still sort-of funny? 

“All right but quit messing with your tie or I’ll throw it out the window instead,” Cora says bitingly while inspecting her new manicure. Unpolished, since he couldn’t smell acetate. She looks so much like their Mom in her groomsmaid dress it’s uncanny.

“I’m allowed to be a little nervous on my wedding day, Corie.” 

She wrinkles her nose at her childhood nickname and snorts, “You’ve been practically married to Stiles longer than I’ve been part of your pack, Derek. The only thing you should worry about is not falling flat on your face when you walk down the aisle.”

“Thank you for the vote of confidence,” he grumbles under his breath. 

Cora flashes a toothy grin and says, “You’re welcome, big brother. Now, how long until I get to have a niece? Or nephew, I’m not picky. I just want a little girl to take after her cool Aunt Cora.”

Derek balks at this for a moment. “Uh.” 

“‘ _ Uh’ _ is not a measure of time, Der-bear.” 

Derek rolls his eyes at her. “Can’t you let me go through one milestone at a time?”

She shrugs and the rose gold shawl around her shoulders slips to hang lamely on the seat. “What’s the point of being your sister if I can’t make you uncomfortable every once in a while? I’m flying to Greece in a week, your regularly scheduled bitching from me won’t be until like, Halloween or only a little bit earlier.” 

“You know you could always just stay for a little longer, right? I built a bedroom for you, too,” Derek reminds her, tightening the knot on his tie for the last time before dropping his hands to his sides and taking a seat next to the girl. “Is it so hard to believe we want you around more?” 

“Of course not, I’m a fucking delight,” she says immediately, jostling his shoulder with hers. She really does look so much like Talia now at twenty-three more than ever. “I’m just not ready to settle down yet, anywhere. But I’ll always be part of this pack. Do you know how much of a kick I get out of telling other people that my pack has two Alphas?” 

Derek smirks and says, “Tell them about the banshee and the kanima, too.” 

Egged on, Cora follows up brightly, “Oh man, I told the last werewolf I dated in Sicily we had a hunter marry in the pack and he almost had a conniption.” 

Derek lets a laugh out of him, and it hits him all over again how much he misses Cora more often than he gets to actually see her. When their laughter dies down, he starts, “Stay for a while, Corie. Call it a wedding gift -”

“My presence  _ is  _ my gift,” she cuts in blandly. 

He scoffs, “Make it last for longer than a week and I’ll send you a thank you note in Greece.”

When Cora only angles her eyebrow in an expression that looks equal parts bemused and guilty, Derek tacks on, “Please,” and then her face crumbles into something that looks resigned, cautious, but happy. 

“Oh all right,” she concedes, then points a filed fingernail at him to say, “but I’m expecting kids to spoil in less than a year. I need children to shop souvenirs for and you people don’t count. You’re all lame.” 

“Even me?” 

She grins at him. “You kidding? You take the crown.” 

A knock comes from the door and it opens swiftly to reveal an equally harried but immaculately-styled Lydia with a clipboard in one hand and Brian the wedding planner’s coat jacket in the other, where he stumbles right in with her with a sheepish smile. 

“Just checking on the other groom,” Lydia tells them, “and to tell you you’re up in fifteen minutes.” Her eyes scan the room and spot a half-eaten brownie with narrowed eyes. 

“Stiles,” she sighs with a momentary hang of her head. “I hope you didn’t get any crumbs on a Hugo Boss suit, Derek.” 

“He’s clean, I ate that one. Got hungry,” Cora answers. 

“That really doesn’t make me feel better, you’re his Maid of Honour,” Lydia walks over to inspect his sister’s dress and smooths out an invisible crease on the bodice. She smiles beautifully then at the two of them (there are times when Derek understands why she was Stiles’ first love), and says, “It’s been an honour to plan this, Derek. I hope you’ll like everything we’ve made for you out there.” 

“It’s gorgeous,” Brian supplies with a boyish grin of his own. 

“I don’t doubt it,” he assures the both of them, “I can’t thank you enough for your efforts.” 

Lydia tilts her neck incrementally but enough to show respect to the Alpha. “Don’t get any stains on your suit until our photographer clocks out and consider me well-thanked. Altered lenses are  _ incredibly  _ expensive, but necessary since seventy percent of our guest list exhibits tapeta lucida.” She saunters out of the room with final reminders of what time he needs to be outside the event hall and what side he’s going to stand in. 

When the door closes, Cora says, “I don’t think I’m ever going to get used to how frighteningly competent that woman is.” 

Derek huffs out a short laugh. “I don’t think any of us have.” 

“Ready for this, Der-bear?” Cora asks finally.

Derek meets her inquiring gaze and answers, “Like I haven't been ready for anything else.” 

  
  


**Step Six: Get Married**

Derek wants to commit to memory the way Stiles tears up at the aisle. He’s going to tease him about this later during their first dance, probably going to tease him about this forever, but right now he’s going to say his vows in front of an entire congregation. It makes him sweat a little, and hands tremble around a piece of weathered paper a lot. 

“I, uh,” he starts and clears his throat when the respectful silence permeates their surroundings. Stiles squeezes his hand encouragingly, and he looks so handsome Derek almost wants to weep. “I’m not the best at words.”

Somewhere in the entourage line someone who sounds suspiciously like Scott McCall whispers, “Understatement.” 

Derek has no choice but to ignore this and continue, “But I’m only getting married once so this time is as good as any to make more than twenty words.” 

A few laughs from the crowd surface and it’s what gives him the backbone to get to the meat of his speech. “I’m going to take this opportunity to make fun of Stiles the way he’s done for the past seven years.”

Stiles’ head snaps up in attention and his eyes take on a challenging glint. 

“For a long time, he’s sworn up and down that he was going to succeed in his ten-year plan to marry our packmate Lydia Martin, and he called me a  _ douchecanoe _ when I told him that’s never going to happen. I am very,  _ very  _ happy to stand in front of him and everyone today to say, ‘ _ I told you so’.”  _

Barking laughter follows this with Stiles’ laugh booming loudest in his ears. 

Derek grins and continues, “He also told me one time that he suspects I know how to put together anything else other than jeans and ten sets of henleys and that I wouldn’t be able to socialise quote unquote properly with people even if my life depended on it.” 

Stiles shrugs twice and does a wide sweep of the room with a coaxing motion. 

“I’d like it to be known that I spent months planning the biggest and possibly the only social event of my life. I picked out both our suits and the entourage’s evening wear, and everything from the invitations, to the table cloths, the wretched centerpieces, and the wine was a product of immense frustration and only a little bit of bloodshed.” 

Stiles mouths, ‘ _ you big baby’.  _

“But I think I’ll do it again on our silver anniversary, or your next birthday party. Like I said, I’m only going to get married once, solely because I can’t imagine being in this position with anyone else. 

“It’s because you have made me do the most impossible things; things like rebuilding my family’s house and stepping up to be a good enough Alpha for this pack, and now apparently I can plan an entire wedding with the right kind of motivation. That’s who you’ve always been. When everything points to the impossible, you’re the one who sticks your tongue out at the end of the day and enjoys proving everyone wrong. So I want to do my own kind of proving-wrong, too. In the best ways I can. You told me once we’re not the type of people whose lives would end in anything but a happy-ever-after. In twenty five years, even fifty, I’m going to follow up on you with that.”

Derek moves to press a kiss on the knuckles of Stiles’ hand and says with finality, “I’ll prove you wrong there, and all you have to do is spend the rest of your life with me to watch it happen.” 

The smile Stiles wears after they exchange rings is so beatific Derek forgets his own name when Deaton pronounces them Mr. Stilinski-Hale. 

“That was awesome,” Stiles says in exhilaration against his ear as they take their first dance, “We should do this again.” 

Derek catches his mouth in a kiss and responds, “Give me twenty five more years before I subject myself to planning something as monstrous as this again.” 

“Being married is  _ awesome,” _ Stiles proclaims with a grin so wide it’s goofy-looking. “I should ask you to marry me again next time, I’ll even help plan the planning! I was thinking something more Star Wars themed, like lightsaber giveaways and Darth Vader goblets. Do you think Lydia’ll let us get away with that?” 

“You weren’t the one partnered with her when we planned this entire thing. I’ve argued with Alphas with weaker dispositions than Lydia. You’re on your own with that proposal.”

The kitsune violinist named Kira they hired plays Canon in D in the background, and slowly the pack members pair up and join them on the dance floor, sweeping in with varying levels of skill and elegance. Scott and Allison look like they’ve been doing this their entire lives while Isaac and Cora appear to be arguing their way into an uncoordinated waltz. Lydia forgoes Jackson to whisk Erica away from Boyd and they set out to upstage everyone else. 

Stiles is a solid weight in Derek’s arms, and he smells happy and fulfilled where he’s pressed his nose against the side of Derek’s cheek. And when Derek looks down to see their joined hands, he momentarily slips off his wedding band to his right hand just to see them clink together when he links their hands back again. 

Stiles follows his line of vision and comments, “Sappy wolf.”

“No, satisfied wolf,” he counters. 

His husband only smiles back as the music fades into a waterfall of sound and only their synced heartbeats resonate in Derek’s ears, then Stiles says, “Me, too. Best decision I ever made.” 

Derek could empathise with that. “You’re mine, too.”

  
  


(Thirteen months later Stiles proves him wrong again. When they visit an orphanage and a little boy in a tiny red hoodie looks up at Derek with flashing Beta-gold eyes, Stiles rallies to hell and back to speed the adoption process and that.

That was the best decision they’ve ever made.)

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Hey lovelies I hope you liked that one! Click my pseudonym to view my other sterek works 
> 
> Hang out with me on[tumblr](https://obscenitied.tumblr.com/) and [the sterek discord server](https://discord.gg/YuaTPfZ)


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